


Under the Rose

by spideypeach



Category: tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Lust, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, agent!au, lustful smut, really good smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-07-20 11:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19991533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideypeach/pseuds/spideypeach
Summary: Would you do anything for the person you love?Would you do anything for the person you lust?





	1. catch a grenade

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Grenade](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/501955) by Bruno Mars. 



When you signed on to become an agent for a secret sect of the government, you hadn’t realized that the job meant being in disguise almost all hours of the day.

From the moment you entered your place of work, a mask shaded your face. You went from being one person around your family to someone else entirely around your fellow field agents, but there was no one you shaded yourself more from than your partner. For him, you masked yourself completely. 

Tom Holland was practically James Bond, and he knew it.

He had been assigned to you after multiple cases of “conflicts of interests” according to Human Resources. After not much digging (you were an agent after all), your suspicions were confirmed. Tom had seduced his way through the female agents of their tier to the point where he was practically impossible to work with. Even the men of their department refused to work with him. You were the last-ditch effort. Upon discovering that, you made it your own personal secret mission to make that effort a success. You wanted to become the agency’s new favorite agent. Dealing with Tom was just a step in your path to climbing the ranks. 

What he was after, you weren’t sure. Your theory was that he wished to work alone, and was trying to run the higher-ups dry of possible partnership opportunities, or even force them into giving him a promotion. Unfortunately for him, you had been the longest-lasting partner, having been paired with him for 6 months. His lips hadn’t come near to any part of your skin. No matter how delicious he attempted to be. 

When your partner entered the room, all eyes gravitated to the way he walked. It was confident, yet you knew from the deepness of your heart that the false confidence was manifested from a dangerous arrogance. You had been working alongside Tom long enough to know how seriously he took himself, and how much of a joke everyone else was in his mind. You were the only one who didn’t fall to your knees at the sight of him. You dismissed him as if he was any other agent on level 36. 

You didn’t lift your eyes when you felt him standing next to you, knowing that he had plenty of people already giving him the attention he needed. The game you played with him rubbed him the wrong way and you knew it and loved it. There was no one more he wanted to crack than you, yet nothing seemed to phase you. His penetrating aura had nothing on you. It barely left a scratch.

Which wasn’t to say it didn’t occasionally knock.

You felt his breath on his neck as he squeezed past you, laying a hand on your shoulder to get by which you promptly rolled your shoulders away from in an attempt to send a message. You were never sure if he actually received it, but it was always worth a shot. He had to figure it out one day. 

“We need to be downstairs for a debriefing in five minutes,” you spoke sternly, pursing your ruby red lips as you finished the sentence. He was typically late to debriefings, so telling him the time frame was probably not going to be much help. Picking up the two files sitting on your desk for your current case, you waited to see if he would join you in heading to the second floor, or if he was just going to be late. When it was obvious it was the latter, you rolled your eyes and proceeded to the elevator.

Yourself and Tom were assigned to one of the most secret missions currently being taken on by the agency. After what felt like endless weeks of research, today was the day one of you, Tom, would finally be venturing into the field. As much as both of you loved research and paperwork (which was close to not at all), it was the disguises and collecting evidence that really gave you the rush. To most people, the act of putting one’s life on the line sounded terrifying, but you had always been an adrenaline junkie. Going for what was dangerous was what spoke to you. 

“This mission is completely sub rosa. You have signed a contract saying that discussing this mission outside of this room and with each other is strictly prohibited. No agents below level 8 are permitted to know anything on Mission 8382. Is this understood?” Chief Agent Madison had her snowy white hair tied tightly back into a bun that rested in the middle of her head, and her eyes were fixed not on you, but on Tom, who had shown up 10 minutes late with a coffee in hand. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you were the only one who spoke. In your peripheral, you saw Tom roll his eyes.

Because yeah, that’s a great way to get in my pants.

“Agent Holland?”

“Yes I understand,” it was almost irritating how chocolatey his British accent stood out amongst the sea of Americans. You stifled a heavy sigh of annoyance.

You both were walked through the basic outline of the mission, which you were both familiar with. The debrief before heading into the field was more of a formality than anything. 

The end goal for you and Tom was to expose a group responsible for one of the largest sex-trafficking empires in the world. It was a case that your department had been following since before you had even been hired, and keeping everything under wraps and running smoothly was of the utmost importance. There was no room for error. Luckily, Tom was good enough at his job to know that. 

“Agent Holland will be heading into the facility first. His application to work for them has been processed, and he has memorized everything that we put on it to make sure that his cover is secure. After a few weeks, he will be asking if his girlfriend, Agent Y/L/N, can come along with him as long as she keeps her mouth shut,” Chief Agent Madison hit a button and another formal-looking slide took the place of the previous, “From there you two will be gathering as much intel as possible. Talk to people, gain their trust, get to know them. You will file a mission report at the end of each day, and when it seems like we have enough information, you’ll be pulled and reassigned to your next case.”

The debrief was always a formality that no agent was a major fan of. It was essential so that agents were held accountable while in the field, but after spending so long in preparation for this case, having the chief of the agency reiterate what you already knew was only making you more anxious to get into your disguise and onto the field. Of course, it was Tom Holland who got to make the initial contact, but that boiled down to the underlying sexism in the criminal world that you were all too familiar with. The men of this trafficking ring were more likely to accept a young man and his girlfriend into their group rather than vice versa. 

“All right. Head to level 40 for your disguise debrief.” 

The red wig was a deep crimson that, by a miracle, didn’t look tacky. The dark red locks fell in waves over your shoulders, perfectly complimenting the red lipstick you had taken to wearing on the daily, solely to get used to the way it felt on your lips. Usually, you only wore makeup for special occasions, but the character you would be embodying for an extensive amount of time was an ex-waitress from New Jersey. Wearing heavy makeup on the daily had become second nature. 

To your left sat Tom, whose hair was usually styled to perfection, but now a charming pile of curls that barely didn’t cover his eyes. He looked displeased. 

“Is this really neces-”

“Yes Agent Holland, it is,” the woman fixing his hair was just as British as he was, steam coming out of her ears as she spoke. She must have fallen victim to Tom’s advances by the way he smirked at her in response. 

You, on the other hand, liked the way you looked. The name you had come up with to go along with your cover fit the look well. Staring at the cat-eye flicked on your eyelid and the thick lashes, both of which you had placed on yourself, you perked your lips into barely a smile. This woman’s name was definitely Rose.

You had heard the term sub rosa so many times in the past few weeks, and just in general with your career, that you couldn’t help but create a name using a play on words. Tom had offered his disapproval almost instantly, but you weren’t really a fan of his name either. 

“Ay,” he said in a well-developed New York American accent, “‘Name’s Johnny.”

It could not be more of a cliche. 

The weeks that you were waiting to be thrown into the field were slow. You hated that Tom was the one to go first, no matter how many times you had reminded yourself that it was essential to the mission for Tom to make the introductions. It was not the agency’s fault that men, especially criminals, saw women as accessories rather than assets. If anything, you were a slightly better and definitely more professional agent than your partner. 

You kept a careful eye on him while he worked, whispering suggestions into his earpieces, which he took about half the time. It was better than what you expected, which was he wouldn’t take any feedback at all. Typically he didn’t leave their main meeting base until about midnight or sometimes later. The day-to-day activities of the world’s most wanted criminals were more mundane than you had anticipated, limited to playing cards, watching sports, and lots of drinking and drugs. Tom only took part in minimal drinking, usually escaping to the bathroom to dump them out. He only wanted to give off the appearance that he was drunk.

By week four, it was hard not to get exasperated. You were starting to wonder if he was dragging the process out on purpose to keep you excluded from the case. He easily could have brought you into the picture during week three. Chewing on your lip, you listened to the menial conversation that that day’s group made while smoking blunts. Tom cleared his voice and started to speak.

“Hey boys, I was wonderin’ if my girl could start coming by,” on the small screen with the low-quality camera, you could see his pixelated body lean back into the chair, his arm swinging across the back. 

A man that was usually referred to by the name of Hardy perked up, taking a hit and leaning on his knees, “Your girl….”

A different man, nicknamed “Candy” (you didn’t care to find out why) spoke next, “Will she keep her mouth shut?”

Tom this time, “Of course. She’s dumber than a doornail, she has no idea, what happens here.”

You held back rolling your eyes. It was all a part of the backstory, your alias had purposefully been written as not the smartest, but hearing it from Tom’s mouth had a different sort of way about it.

“Why does she want to tag along then?” it was Smithy that asked the next question. 

“Just lost her job at Hooter’s,” the entire male group’s ears perked at the sound of that, “And she isn’t particularly the stay-at-home type.” 

A dark brooding figure appeared amongst them in the outskirts of where the camera lens stopped, just at his presence, the entire dynamic of the room change, the attention going immediately to him as if waiting for something absolutely profound to be said. After a pungent pause, his profound words turned out to be, “We could use a little bit of ass around here.”

It was followed by chuckles and a few playful punches to Tom’s shoulders. 

“Perfect,” by the way Tom was speaking, you could tell he was smiling, “I’ll bring her with me tomorrow.”

…

The drive to the evil lair was silent. If it had been any quieter, Tom probably would have been able to hear how your heart was pounding in your chest. Since he had already been doing this for a month, this was just another day of work for him, as much as this degree of “work” could be. There had been barely any intel in the month he had been working the case, only drinking and smoking. It was almost as if Tom, and now you, were getting a very tense vacation. 

“Nervous?” you could see the warehouse by the time the first word was said. 

“Me? Johnny, please,” you said it in the thick, well-practiced New Jersey accent that had been a part of studying this woman you were becoming. 

Out of the corner of your eye, a hint of a smile twitched on his mouth.

You placed a pair of sunglasses over your eyes, a tacky pair that were so huge they shaded your eyebrows, not because it was bright outside but because the truth was you were slightly nervous. It wasn’t like shading your eyes from the criminals would protect you in any way, 

The room that they spent most of their time in smelled of booze and weed (not much of a shock), with a hint of metal that probably came from the tall pillars and an entire wall that was elaborately decorated in graffiti, which were unintelligible through the crappy observation cameras that you were so used to looking at. With a deep inhale, you took in the scene, trying to memorize every detail. 

The large man, the one that had given his seal of approval on Tom’s “girl” being allowed to come around, was the first to greet you. After the months of surveillance, you still had never caught his actual name. He was strictly referred to as “boss.” If you could weasel your way into figuring out what his name actually was, it would be a major lead in your case. In the moments that you had spoken with Tom about it, he had mentioned that his efforts to crack the alias hadn’t come to anything. As much as you hated it, maybe the boss needed a little more than what Tom was able to give him. 

The man was tall, broad, and a lot more handsome than you had expected. He was tough in a sexy way, with the hint of stubble speckling his jawline, and veins popping out of the muscles that extended out of the white tank that tightly hugged his toned body. He approached you, slowly, sizing you up as if you weren’t the meek girl that you were pretending to be. Little did know, he was dealing with one of the most highly trained agents in the United States. 

His fingers brushed a strand of your fake, red hair over your shoulder, and he took off your sunglasses for you, closing them with his mouth and placing them in the front pocket of your jeans, moving as if someone had pressed the “slo-mo” button. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” his accent was Australian, “I’m glad you’re able to start joining us.”

You snapped your gum, ignoring the drumbeat of your heart, and spoke with your Jersey accent, “Pleasure’s all mine, mister.” 

Tom’s hand snaked around your waist, and you ignored the butterfly feeling that accompanied it. No one had touched you like that for as long as you could remember. The way that he pulled you close following the subtle touch, you felt as if he was being protective. You turned your head so that you were facing him, each of your faces temptingly inches away from each other.

“Now, boss, let’s not get too handsy, eh?” Tom accompanied his teasing tone by placing a toothpick in between his teeth. He kissed the side of your head, which was rough but sort of endearing at the same time. 

You soon discovered that your perception of what the men spent their time doing was exactly correct. Chairs in a circle accompanied by an endless supply of beers and straight whiskey. You kept to the beers, and when a blunt was passed around, you politely declined. 

“History of lung cancer,” you winked at one of the guys across from you. You were pretty sure it was Hardy. His jet black hair was slicked back to a point where you were sure that wringing it out would follow with an ugly amount of hair product dripping out. He looked as if he belonged in Grease. 

You had gotten what you wanted, though. Hardy responded with a slight bite to his lip and a subtle hiding of his eye contact upon noticing that Tom was glaring at him. 

He was certainly good at playing his role. This was the most emotion you had gotten from Tom in all the months you had been working with him. 

“Boys,” Boss clapped, his voice immediately altering the energy in the room, “I have news from our men on the outside that our rival might be in the area looking to...give us a frighten. Let’s take a walk outside, huh? Grab your toys.” 

Of course, the day that you decided to make an appearance, there was something other than lounging around Home Base. You met eyes with Tom, who responded with a smirk, throwing his shades over his eyes. 

You had heard of the rival group with a few mentions, and you were sure that the agency was on it, possibly assigning other agents to potentially take them down. Being in this line of work had given you a heavy realization that the world was a fucked-up place. 

That’s why you did this. You had always aspired to make the world a better place, and now you had no choice. 

“Of course,” the boss’s attention fixated on you as all the men shuffled to get what you assumed was weapons, “you are more than welcome to come, my dear, but I wouldn’t want you to find yourself getting hurt.” 

You circled your finger around the rim of your beer bottle and sucked the liquid off your manicured finger with a cheeky POP, “I think I’ll be okay, mister.” 

Each of the men filed back in, Tom quick to make his way to you and place a hand on the small of your back. If you hadn’t been wearing your chic denim jacket, his hand would have met bare skin thanks to the leopard print crop top you had picked for that day. A shiver tempted to shake your shoulders. 

It was a hot, muggy summer afternoon in New York. Looking around, you saw that each of the guys you had been with had taken to their own set of shades, trudging through the high grass like they were hunting an animal rather than another group of people. 

One of Tom’s arms held the automatic weapon, and the other hung over your now bare shoulders, the red curls brushing against it. You popped your gum with every step, keeping a keen eye on the situation around you, knowing that the newest people to this gang had the most experience. 

The Jeep came out of nowhere, driving roughly across the field without any question of anyone’s safety. It was who they were looking for. 

What you hadn’t expected was the projectile that flew from the front window, thrown by a man in sunglasses, mouth guarded with a black bandana. It was headed straight for Tom, but before you thought twice, you unraveled yourself from him and caught it, only taking a moment to realize exactly what they had thrown at you.

“Don’t worry, beautiful,” Candy spoke up. “It’s probably a fake-”

You were definitely not going to risk it. It was your first day on the job, and neither you nor Tom was getting killed. Throwing it, you used every muscle in your arm, almost popping it out of its socket. It did the trick, flying across the field far and high, where it exploded.

“Damn,” Candy adjusted his attitude.

The boss was now eying you, his arms crossed and a finger lingering on the corner of his mouth, “You got quite an arm, Rose.” 

It was the first time you had been called by your fake name. 

You laughed, forcing it to sound as natural as possible. Rose was an airhead after all. 

“I was softball captain my senior year of high school. Guess your throwin’ arm never truly goes away, huh?” with another laugh, you wrapped your arms around Tom’s waist, the feeling of his abs pressing into your chest, “I saved your life, huh baby?”

On his lips were a smile, but his brown eyes were filled with some concern that was unfamiliar to you. Tom never worried about any one of his partners, “You sure did.”

The kiss was short and soft, and while you wished you could have said it was detached, all a part of the facade, there was something sugary about the way he interlocked your lips. 

“Careful,” you said, brushing his lips with your finger. “I’m wearing my good lipstick.” 

When you had returned to home base, you needed to take a minute to yourself. Asking for the restroom, you escaped to the grungy, foul-smelling bathroom that was littered with more graffiti. 

The mirror was scratched and etched with names and quotes and years that were remnants of the past. With a deep inhale you took a square of toilet paper and dabbed at the sweat that was shining on your forehead and chin, mixed with the natural oil of your thick, full coverage foundation. 

You were startled by the sound of someone bursting through the door, and you were about to stay in character and shriek before you noticed it was Tom, who was filling the little space that you already had in the grimey bathroom. You hardly got a word in before Tom wrapped you in his arms, gently.

“Johnny what-”

“No, this is Tom giving you a hug. Not Johnny,” he was speaking in his native, British accent. 

You weren’t sure if this was authentic, so after standing stone-cold still, you returned the hug unenthusiastically. Was this his attempt to woo you?

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he continued, parting from the hug. Your faces were barely inches apart, and you could feel his breath grazing your skin as he looked down at your feet.

“Well,” you swallowed the small amount of saliva remaining in your dry mouth, “I’m okay. I’m Agent Y/L/N, remember?” 

“Catching a grenade is more intense than one would think,” he rubbed one of his eyes, “If you need anything let me know.” 

You watched as he exited, unsure of how to feel. Tom had never seemed like a compassionate person to you, yet here he was making sure you were okay. It was so out of character.

It had to be him trying to get to you. 

Clenching your teeth, you huffed out a sigh and returned to the group, greeted by the familiar smell of marijuana. With a simple smile, you sat back down in your spot next to Tom. You slid a lock of hair back behind your ear, and made eye contact with each of the different men, unapologetically gawking at you.

“You all are making me wish I’d kept the grenade in my hand. Eyes on your cards, gentlemen!” you flashed Tom a wink, and watched as his ears turned pink.

Two could play at his game.


	2. hand on a blade

Things returned to their usual mundane business after the episode in the field.

It had forced you to start wondering the purpose of the men sitting around doing hardly anything all day. It was a sex-trafficking business, yet you hardly saw a single young woman pass through the warehouse that had now become your day job. In meetings at the agency, you reported and confirmed everything the mic attached to your collarbone had recorded. You had been reassured that your work was dong leaps for the investigation, but you were antsy to make the arrests of the criminals you spent your time with.

You knew that these women were out there somewhere, going through everything unimaginable; the thought of them was what got you out of bed in the morning, and every time a “client” was discussed, you suppressed your firey urge to sock one of the men in the face, but there was a cover to maintain, and many many lives to protect. Including your own.

Tom’s fingers laid loosely interlocked with your own, an interaction so natural that it was as if you had been doing it for years, as the cover suggested. All of the detached moments of affection were slowly burning into your motions like delicately practiced choreography. Tom grabbing your hand, your waist, your forearm, the way he pressed a kiss into your body, it was all starting to lose its spark that you felt when you had started a week prior.

After literally saving the lives of your favorite sex-traffickers, they had started to trust you. You discovered that these rival groups spent a good portion of time attempting to sabotage any efforts, and they did the same in retaliation, all done by an entirely different set of people that you had a slim chance of meeting. It was a good report to bring back to intelligence, though.

You had gotten into an interesting conversation regarding them.

“They like to get creative with their attacks, one time they threw chemical bombs into the place, we left with swollen eyes, I may have been blind for a few days,” Smithy took a long drag off of his cigarette and snuffed it out on the arm of his chair.

“Oh!” Hardy spoke up, “Don’t forget the time that you got a ninja star in your leg,” he raised his eyebrows at you, “that’s right, miss, a whole fucking ninja star.”

“It’s almost like a game for them,” you commented, starting to catch on.

“Yeah,” Candy spit, “It’s fucking stupid, though. They need to stop being pussies and use a gun. Like everyone else.”

How attacking with one lethal weapon over another made someone a pussy was beyond you.

Meanwhile, you had continued to play the game of seduction with Tom to keep your mind off of the imminent deathtrap you walked into every day. After the scene in the bathroom, you started to notice the sly way that he would eye you as you walked away, or how his hand lingered so low on your waist. Some movements were methodical, some were the result of a secret desire that he probably hadn’t realized you noticed. The extra sway to your hips and the subtle release of your breath when he held you were nothing but purposeful.

As long as nothing carried on, you would be fine. You weren’t about to become another notch in Tom Holland’s belt.

Sitting in Tom’s passenger seat, you made the silent drive over to the location, occasionally checking your lipstick to give yourself something to do. It was strange how close you felt to your partner, despite the limited, cordial conversation that you carried out privately. Being two different people had proven itself to be restricting in the strangest of ways.

This morning, however, you decided to take a new step in the carpool and twist the volume on to turn on some music. You felt his eyes as you returned back to sitting, some song by Taylor Swift echoing in the speakers.

_Don’t blame me love made me crazy, if it doesn’t you ain’t doing it right._

You had never been in love. It never crossed your mind as something important. During your high school years, you had much more strenuous priorities, and now, your job was your entire life. Something about the lyrics radiated in your brain, though. The way that love could change someone. Sometimes it was the best thing that could happen to a person. And sometimes it was the worst.

When you reached the final destination, you were greeted with a series of tired grunts, as usual. It took a couple hours for the guys to wake up, and a few beers usually did the trick. Alcohol for them was like coffee for you: they had no words for each other until they had gotten it coursing through their systems.

Nothing seemed out of place that afternoon. There was a specifically intriguing soccer game that they all seemed invested in, while you couldn’t care less. Anything other than soccer was more your speed.

Well, nothing was out of place that afternoon until Boss made an unruly entrance, tossing guns to his men, and looking directly at you and pointing to the bathroom. Thrown completely off guard, you turned around to see a storm of men, clad in black, all wielding long and seemingly sharp blades. The rival gang had made another return, this time with another creative form of weaponry.

You took note of the pistols on their hips. Today they had decided not to be pussies.

You were reluctant to place yourself into hiding, but you drifted away to keep the cover intact. It was almost painful to separate yourself from the action. You had almost reached the door when you took one last glimpse, not wanting to admit that you wanted to be absolutely certain that Tom was okay. The answer was terrifying in one way, but satisfying in another.

A dark figure was approaching Tom from behind, blade raised, going in for a fatal swoop.

You wanted to tell yourself that it was your instinct as an agent that sent you running, in the same way that had brought you to throw that grenade out of explosion range. It definitely wasn’t the panic of seeing your partner in danger, a wild panic that was out of control, rather than the regulated anxiety that was perfect for sending yourself into life-threatening situations. Your heart was beating out of your chest as your feet pounded, your mind spun, and you shoved Tom out of the way, replacing his head with your hand.

In training, they had forced you to endure all sorts of pain, all consensual. They would get your verbal confirmation, and with a countdown from three, you would get a shot of electricity shoved into your veins. In this job, pain was inevitable, but pain was also fleeting. The more you grew used to it, the stronger you felt.

The burning sensation that exploded in your hand was nothing like you had felt in training. You _wished_ you had felt the fire in your hand, and as your vision went white, you heard the gunshots fire off. Boss was yelling, through the unwarranted tears in your eyes there was the sound of Tom’s pseudonym being demanded to a task. It felt like an eternity until there was a shout of “all clear.”

Through your blurred vision, you saw Tom’s concerned brown eyes, and his hands bring you to your feet. You were dizzy with delirium, the pain in your hand only increasing as more seconds passed. Maybe you had split it open, maybe once they contained the bleeding you wouldn’t feel like vomiting, but the sight you were welcomed to once the fog cleared almost sent your breakfast and the minimal alcohol straight up your throat.

It was a clean slice to your pinkie finger.

Which, fortunately, meant that it could be sewn back on.

Right?

Tom started to say your name but quickly corrected himself, “Rose, baby, let’s get to the car. Hospital time.”

Despite the excruciating pain, you stayed in character, “Johnny...what happened?”

You knew what the fuck happened. Those pussies had chopped your finger off.

Tom didn’t reply with the obvious, he replied with, “Love, you saved my life,” and then under his breath, “again.”

You were ushered out the door, with Tom insisting that he take you himself over having the entire group follow. You knew that you were headed to the agency and not an actual hospital. There couldn’t be any public record of the injury. It would blow your cover. There was a fully operating hospital wing on one of the floors for this very reason, the surgeon would be ready for you when you got there.

Tom helped you into the passenger seat of his car, placing your severed finger in your lap, wrapped in a towel as if that made anything better. It only made you want to hurl more.

This car ride was not silent. “Y/N how’s it going?” his British accent was a breath of fresh air, and you hated that.

“I’m not fucking dying Tom.”

“Yeah, well, pardon me for making sure you aren’t having a panic attack. You just got mutilated after all.”

“I’ll live. Eyes on the road.”

“Okay! Okay.”

Your entire body was damp with sweat as if someone had dumped water everywhere except your hair. You could feel it dripping down your face and the way that it made the wig particularly itchy. You wanted to rip it off, but once again, the cover. The things you did for your job.

“You saved my life again," he repeated.

“Yes. And?”

He hesitated as if expecting a different answer, “Thanks.”

“You’re my partner, I could only hope you would do the same for me.”

“I would,” the way he said it was almost defensive.

“Oh thank, goodness. I was worried for a second,” you were being sarcastic to mask the pain, but that couldn’t mask the yelp you let out as he sped around a corner.

There was another brief silence, but you didn’t like how it felt, so you filled it with the dumbest joke you could think of, “Do you think this pain is worse than childbirth?”

You could hear him trying not to laugh, “You’re asking an expert.”

“Good. You think?” He looked at your hand, which had now bled through the towel you were using for pressure and was bleeding onto your leather pants and onto the car seats made of the same material.

“Sure.”

“Thanks Doctor Holland, I think I’ll have kids now.”

Upon arrival, you were shoved onto a gurney and taken away, Tom only being able to accompany you to a certain point. It didn’t seem like either of you noticed that he had taken hold of your non-injured hand until each one of your fingers were torn away from each other, leaving you to roll your eyes back and pass out, the final dose of adrenaline running out.

…

_Beep...beep...beep…_

Consciousness was like hitting a wall. Your eyes fell open almost against your will, sleep wanting to regain its hold. With a deep inhale, you rolled your head over to your left hand, which now no longer had the deep pain from what felt like only minutes prior, although you knew it had to be hours. The memories came flooding back. There was the motion of intent in the body of the attacker, the insane panic, and the flash of internal light that stung across your eyes as the blade swept across your hand. It was a memory that would never leave you, a trauma that you knew you had no time to address.

A thick, cast-like bandage surrounded your pinkie, sitting on a strategically laid table to keep it elevated. What caught your surprise, though, was the fact that another hand rested on top of yours, rough with calluses, a hand that you had held before, but never like this. Tom was asleep in a chair next to you, his head rolled back, mouth agape. The small sight of drool brought a weak smile to your face. Asleep, the usually dark and demeaning man that you worked with looked relaxed and...soft. You knew better than anyone that Tom was anything but soft.

Your hand twitched, and Tom immediately stirred, yawning and retracting his hand away from yours. For a second you could tell he was just as disoriented as you had just been, but he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and met yours, looking slightly sheepish as he pulled on his fingers nervously. He pulled a leg to his chest, looking a way for a second, then chuckled to himself as he looked back at you.

“Something funny?” your voice was hoarse.

He shook his head, “You almost lost your finger there, agent.”

“Thank goodness I had the wonderful Agent Thomas Stanley Holland to save me from a life of stub hand.”

He chuckled again, “Even mutilated, you remain as endearing as ever, Y/L/N.”

You couldn’t help the blush that sparked on your cheeks. Hopefully, the lighting was dim enough that he didn’t see.

It was almost midnight when a flurry of agents took up almost all of the space in your hospital wing, a reminder that your work never stopped. The mission was still steady-going, and this was likely not to be considered a setback.

“Agent Y/L/N, we would like to remind you that despite your injury, you are still expected to return to the field as soon as possible. This mission is too important for you to step back, and the chances of cover being blown-”

You cut the man speaking to you off, “I understand. I expected nothing less.” As if you ever even thought about not continuing the mission. This had been the most important mission of your career. You would have to be killed in action before resigning.

The man at the foot of your bed, an agent you had never met before, was trying to hide how pleased he was with your answer. Apparently, he had expected you to put up more of a fight. Satisfied, they left, not needing to hear anything else from you.

“I’ll be sure to get well soon!” you called as the door shut behind them. It left you alone with Tom once again.

He was smirking. “Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

“Go for it,” you expected it to be about the plan of action for tomorrow. Neither of you talked about much more than work.

In the months you spent preparing with your partner, he had never asked anything personal, so his question took you by surprise.

“What brought you to this line of work?”

Your lips parted, and you took a second to think before responding, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. You thought about the family you left behind when accepting the job, the minimal contact, how you hadn’t seen your parents in years. To any onlooker, you had given up a lot to take this job, but to you, it had been an easy decision.

“Um,” you sighed. “Well, initially I was a police officer. Narcotics. My parents…”

Were you really about to tell him this?

“My parents ran a drug lab in our house for a very long time. They weren’t arrested until I was in college. I just wanted to make a difference.”

“And what brought you here?”

“Putting Jacoby Zimmerman in jail.”

He looked impressed, “You...put the Magic Man in jail?”

“Sure did.”

Zimmerman had been your side project. He was a drug trafficker, and he was good. The best detectives in your precinct had been chasing him for years, and while you were the lowest tier in the line of detectives, you had been going behind their backs to try and book him. As much as you hated to admit it, the relation was personal. He had supplied to your parents, and your parents had tried to get you to deal at your high school. Instead, you worked a fast-food job and shoved the drugs down the toilet. Every paycheck went towards the drug hussle that wasn’t happening, and you hardly kept a cent for yourself.

“Damn. He was…”

“Renowned. I know,” you paused, wondering how to conclude the strange conversation you had found yourself in, “I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to do what’s right. Change my past or whatever.”

You sat in silence some more, occasionally looking down at your bandaged finger. When you put away Zimmerman, you never pictured yourself in this position. You had been told countless times that being an agent sometimes required repeatedly putting yourself in danger, but after all the paperwork and the meetings, you had started to detach yourself from that factor. Now, there you were, sewn back together like Frankenstein.

You hadn’t noticed when you fell asleep, but when you woke up in the middle of the night, after yet another nightmare where your finger was being torn apart, Tom’s hand had returned to sitting on yours. It was gentle. Tender. You couldn’t help the subtle feeling of comfort drawn from it.

You were losing the game.


	3. jump in front of a train

Against doctor’s orders, you returned to work the next day, and you found that the ride over to home base was no longer as icy silent as it had been in the past. Trauma brought people together, even when you really didn’t want it to.

There were jokes about you being crippled, there was discussion about the case, and there was a warning about the men that you were surrounded by, even though you were fully aware of the sexualization you faced day by day.

“If you hadn’t noticed, I try to use that to my advantage.”

You saw him scrunch up his nose, “It’s slimy. Of them. Like, they know you have a boyfriend.”

Raising your eyebrows, you gave him a quizzical look.

“Like- Rose has a boyfriend. Johnny and Rose have been dating for a while and it’s like they don’t care.”

“I’ve met plenty of slimy men, they aren’t the worst I’ve ever encountered.”

He frowned, “You have?”

The look in your eyes gave you away.

“O-okay listen. I know I have a reputation but it isn’t what you think.”

Your lips twitched, almost into a smile. At this point you weren’t sure what to think.

“Every single agent I’ve…well it was all consensual, and they all knew the conditions of our relationships.”

“Which were?”

“Just….one time. One and done. They caught feelings and...got upset. I did feel pretty bad, but what am I supposed to do?”

You rolled your eyes, which triggered some annoyance on his part.

“Y/N, you can’t blame me for wanting what most everyone else wants. Everyone who wants to be should have the freedom to do what they want with their bodies, even me.”

It hit you, sort of like a train. You had been assuming the worst of him the moment rumors started flying, without even taking a second to actually get to know him. To your own defense, he had been slightly narcissistic and his arrogance was practically breathable, but everything else was nothing you had a right to judge him for.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“No no, don’t be sorry. I get it. With a face like mine, I’d want to fall in love with me too.”

With a shove of his shoulder and a series of laughs, most of the hostile feelings you had towards your partner started to fly away, some lost feelings floating in the wind, and just like that you didn’t have a reason to hate Tom Holland.

When you made your walk into the lot, you reached for Tom’s hand, almost instinctively, but also with a bit of yearning. No matter how badly you wanted to forget it, you couldn’t take your mind off the way his hand felt on top of yours in the hospital room. The strong man you thought you knew had a gentle side, and you wanted to tap back into it. He took his hand in yours, one of his fingers lightly stroking the base of your bandaged pinkie.

“Hey lovebirds,” out of character, Boss was sitting with the guys in the main lounging area.

“Boss...boys,” Tom nodded at each one of them. All eyes had drifted to your interlocked hands, specifically yours, with the large wad of gauze and fiberglass, the materials keeping your hand intact.

“How’s the ol’ hand holding up,” Candy smacked his lips after speaking.

“Not holdin’ much, Candy,” you gave him a short smile and sat down, not letting go of Tom.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Boss stood and started to circle the group, “We’re headed on a little adventure today.”

There were some mumbled protests, and then tension in Tom’s body, and you didn’t know why, but as you stood you could tell the words that were going to follow.

“Hey,” he was inches apart from you, his hand brushing onto your shoulder, “maybe you should go home-”

You stood on your toes, your lips slightly touching his ear, “Agent, you know I can’t do that.”

Both of you kept your eyes on each other, a challenge to each other’s wishes, but he just smirked and wrapped his arm around you, leading in the direction your armed...comrades were heading.

It was the same field that you had caught the grenade, except this time you kept walking, and the ache in your feet, covered by a pair of flats this time, only grew with each step you took, a blister forming both on the inside and heels of your feet. The additional pain didn’t help, your finger had started throbbing again, and you knew it was time to take another pain killer.

“Hey you got water?” you whispered to Tom as you both started to climb an incline.

“Yup,” you both came to a stop as you swallowed the pill from the bottle in your jacket pocket.

“You guys gonna share the oxys?”

You shot him a glance, “It’s acetaminophen so that’ll be a no, Hardy,” you winked at him for extra measure, followed by a cold stare from Tom.

You shoved the bottle back in your pocket. At the top of a hill laid a train track, and beyond it, more grass and forest. It stretched for miles, the end completely out of sight, weeds sticking up in between the tracks, the grass still almost knee-high.

“I knew it,” Boss spoke up, shaking his head, “I knew that there had to be some way they were getting in without us seeing. Those fuckers have been rail-hopping!”

“Or they just have been taking their own train, you know how much money they’ve got boss,” Smithy commented, spitting into the grass.

“Good point, kid.” Boss clapped, getting everyone’s attention aptly, “All right, you brought crowbars for a reason, start pulling up the tracks. Those fuckers won’t be on us for much longer.”

The guys got to work, while you stood next to Boss on the sidelines, observing silently. There were only a few times where he spoke to you, asking a few questions about your boyfriend and your injury, but other than that there was a steady silence that you weren’t sure was awkward or neutral. The large Australian man in charge of the group of rascals was the only one you actually felt legitimately threatened by. The muscles bulging out of his clothes only gave you a fraction of what he was capable of. If this man could sell sex against women’s own will, there was probably much more he could do with just his fist. You had never been one to back down from a fight, but you also knew when you were entering a fight you would lose.

20 minutes had gone by, the sun hitting your back, and no progress had been made on pulling up any train tracks. To neither Tom’s nor your surprise, pulling up metal was a lot more difficult than it looked. After another five minutes, you decided to take a seat, lounging in the sun, hopefully with the potential of getting a fraction of a tan.

The sound of a train whistle jerked your body up, a pulse of adrenaline coursing through you. Logically, all of the men should have immediately jumped off the tracks to yield for the train, but when you looked, everyone but Tom had gotten clear of their original positions.

“Johnny, stand down, we might have a fight ahead of us!” Hardy shouted over the ever-growing hollers of the train.

“The crowbar- it’s stuck, hold on!” he was nervous, a hint of his British accent was pouring through into his voice. You looked down the way to see a freight train chugging its way down the tracks, headed right in his direction, with no sign of Tom getting out of the way.

You stood, taking your shoes off, knowing that there had to be something else wrong for Tom not to be getting his ass off the trajectory of the train. All at once, the men started shouting, insisting he let it be, that it wasn’t worth it, that he was going to get himself killed. You knew Tom. It wasn’t the stuck crowbar that was keeping him there, it had to be something else, but the closer you looked, the less obvious that it was.

And then you saw it. His shoe was stuck under the wedged crowbar, preventing him from getting out of the way, and as the train chugged closer, and as that insane panic started to reinstate itself, you knew what you had to do to make sure that Agent Tom Holland didn’t get himself killed once again.

You sprinted again, just as you had the previous day, pumping your arms, keeping your line of vision locked on him. Right before hitting the edge of the tracks, you leapt, purely on faith, not sure if your poorly developed plan was going to work, and collided with him forcefully, your bodies knocking into each other, the boisterous sound of the train echoing behind you.

Your bodies were rolling, one on top of another, the ground rolling beneath you. It was a moment before you came to a stop, both of you holding onto each other for dear life. Looking down at Tom, fear in his dark eyes, breaths heaving one after another, you could tell that he had been just as panicked as you. The impending doom of the train had been a moment of utter fear and vulnerability. There hadn’t been anything he could do to save himself.

“We…” he was still out of breath, still clutching onto your body on top of his, “we have to stop meeting like this,” it wasn’t Johnny who was speaking to you, it was Tom.

“Like what?”

“Me...you…you saving my life…”

When you kissed him, there was an explosion. Not like the explosions you had witnessed in the field, but an explosion of passion that you had never felt before. Your lips tangled with each other, feeding a need that you didn’t recognize. His arms tightened around you, your legs weaved their way together, and your hand scaled his chest, reaching up and stopping at the base of his neck.

This wasn’t Rose and Johnny kissing, this was Y/N and Tom kissing.

“Oh come on, we were hoping you guys would be dead!” Candy called out.

The train had passed, and all the sound you could hear were the cackling laughs of the rambunctious boys.

“Stop fucking each other and let’s head back!” Boss yelled back at you, already turning around to go back to home base.

This time, when you held hands, it was different. You clutched onto each other like a lifeline, which was what you had now become for Tom. It was the third time you had saved his life, and you had an inkling, potentially a premonition, that it wouldn’t be the last.

You sat on his lap when you got back, his arms around your waist, your head balanced on top of his. The motions felt natural, not forced. The act that you both had been putting up to keep your cover was starting to fade into reality, the line between your relationship starting to blur.

“We’ll start working on a strategy to keep them out, start setting up some tripwires on the outskirts of our property…”

Your focus had started to shift in and out, and it was embarrassing to say that your attention was set on the feeling of Tom’s strong arms snaked around your body, the way it started to slip down and find its way onto your hipbone and the side of your face buried in his curls. You were craving him and his touch. You had succumbed to losing the game that you had given so much effort to try and play.

Had he been this way with all of those girls? Had he seduced them with witty comments and slight gestures? A scared section of you wanted to run away, and to force all of these vulnerable, awful feelings into a vat, and set them ablaze in the same fashion he had done with your heart. You were aflame in passion for your partner, thanks to a game that you had been stupid enough to play. Having him hold you, even just for that moment, was fire on fire. Two elements that should kill, intertwining into a sea of desire for a group of criminals to witness. Not even your employers, with their close eye, could see through this act. To them, it was the cover. To you, it was going to be your demise.


	4. do anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter contains smut ;)

You walked hand-in-hand with Tom on the way out the door at the end of the night, not bothering to unlink once you were out of sight as you normally did. This time, it was only for a moment when you parted to get into the car, and as soon as you sat down, you felt his hands around your waist and his lips on your neck, and as miraculous as that felt-

“We have to wait. Debrief, car ride, your apartment,” you turned and faced him, and placed a longing kiss on his lips, slowly parting. With a nod, he inserted the keys into the ignition and started the car, driving towards the agency. You could feel the vibrations of ardor radiating throughout the car, a reverberating hum that didn’t want to relent. His hand found its way to your thigh, slowly moving up, until a swift gasp brought it to a halt, a twinkle in his eye telling him that he knew what was in your future. 

The debriefing was no more interesting than it had been the previous days you had spent completing your mission. A part of you had a bit of regret for having your mind so distracted on your partner instead of your work, but you had always had a knack for balance, and keeping up with your work while maintaining a...side mission was not going to compromise anything. It couldn’t. You wouldn’t allow it.

But you still couldn’t help feeling the edge that you wanted to jump over so terribly. Next to you, Tom was bouncing his leg, not something he usually did. On a normal day, he was his typical, suave self, nonchalantly navigating his way through these nightly meetings with an air of relaxation that would drive you up a wall when you first met him. His professionalism was low, with you on the opposite side of the spectrum, but tonight he appeared to be rushing through the questions, going through the motions, and eagerly trying to force the meeting to a close. 

You let your hand wander over to his jittery left leg, and without being seen, you placed on his thigh, giving him a look, forcing him to relax, as if he didn’t want you to know that he was yearning to leave. You flashed him your eyes for a moment before trying to regain your focus on the agency’s director continuing to speak and set up a course of action for the days coming. It wasn’t anything new; keep observing, take note of important comments, don’t get killed, and don’t get caught. 

“Oh, and Agent Y/L/N, we’ll want you to start your physical therapy as soon as you are healed to make a smooth recovery.”

“Of course,” you smiled a sickly sweet smile, just wishing that everything could wrap itself up. 

“You two are free to go. Keep up the good work, we’re thankful that you two have befriended each other, it’s helped your chemistry immensely.”

Oh yes, you had just befriended him, and nothing more.

Apparently, there was more than one mission you were looking to keep sub rosa. 

You were kissing him again when you got in the car again, your hands tracing the curve of his sharp jaw, and you were startled when he pulled away, taking your wrist in his hand and dragging it down. Your eyebrows furrowed, but all was explained when he pointed to the security camera placed at the perfect angle of the car. He was on the DL as well. You pecked his lips and pleasantly sat in your seat, hoping that he didn’t live too far away. 

He lived uptown, about 20 minutes away, and you felt every single minute like the clock was ticking inside your chest. When he pulled into the driveway of a large, suburbian-style house, you almost laughed. It wasn’t the type of place you expected one of the world’s best agents to reside. It looked as if it belonged to a family of five, with a dog yapping and a well-used playset sitting in the backyard. 

Those thoughts were shoved away as you took his hand and followed him to the doorstep. As soon as you passed through the doorway, you were pressed into the nearby wall, a lustful kiss reaching your lips as he pressed his hands into your hips. You felt yourself inhale quickly has his lips smoothly moved from your lips to your neck, trailing down to the base. He was sucking hard, an attempt to give you a hickey, but you didn’t care. It was intense the way the minute pain made you feel, and you could hardly help the small release in your vocal cords as you shut your eyes and buried your fingers into his hair. 

It wasn’t long before your denim jacket had fallen onto the floor, and you were moving to the kitchen, his trajectory set on the mini island in the center of the room. You hopped up onto it, pulling his torso in between your legs, begging to feel him even closer than you had before. Now your fingers combed across his jaw, pulling him in. You desperately wanted to kiss him again, but he had other motives. Instead, he moved back to your neck, now having better access from the height the counter was giving you. He sucked, slowly, just below your ear, before trailing kisses farther down and reaching your exposed collarbone. 

Your hand returned to his hair, the other delicately tracing his neck, your red fingernails clasping around the back. He smelled of his strong, character-defining cologne: Johnny’s cologne. It was a thick smell that you had only recently grown to enjoy, a safe smell, and it was all over you. 

Your lips parted, “This shouldn’t be allowed, Agent Y/L/N,” his breath was hot against your neck.

“Agent Holland, you bend the rules too frequently to be saying that.”

And you were back at it, legs wrapped around his waist, sliding your shoes off and feeling them clammer onto the floor. His hands moved with grace and intelligence, an experience you had never known, sliding up the skin-tight tube top and onto your breast, a slight expulsion of air releasing from your system. His thumb was gently circling your nipple, and you were chewing on your bottom lip in utter excitement. 

But it only took you a second to notice that he was in complete control, and you couldn’t have that. 

You slid down from off the counter, playfully shoving him back, watching as the bulky leather jacket found its way off his shoulders. In one pull, you were able to rip the white tank from his chest, the tear of the fabric piercing the silent air that had only been filled by both of your surging breaths. His expression was of surprise, not expecting to have his clothes torn from him. He was standing bare-chested in the moonlit kitchen, the beams reflecting off the curves of his muscles in his chest and stomach, shiny with a small sheen of sweat. He was beautiful, thaumaturgic, demonly and heavenly all at once. His mussed curls had fallen recklessly across his forehead, his brown eyes tracing every inch of your body approaching him. 

You were with him again now, kissing his jaw, your hand falling onto the waistband of his jeans, his member pressing into your leg. 

“Hard on me already, Holland?”

“You do terrible things to me, Agent.” 

“I’ve saved your life three times over, Johnny.”

“Rose, I only want to speak with Y/N, she means much more to me than you, darling.” 

You felt the heat in your cheeks, your racing heart only picking up speed. 

He picked you up, leaving you in surprise, throwing you over his shoulder. He was trying to take back his control, and while you wanted it back, feeling his muscles against your skin only brought more desire to your body. 

He set you down inside the master bedroom, upstairs. It was a large room, a king-size bed on the back wall, a wall of windows to your right revealing a glorious view of the city you had grown up in, the lights twinkling across the star-riddled sky. 

A set of arms found their way around your body, Tom’s biceps against your bare shoulders. His head settled in the curve of your neck, taking in the view with you. 

“Beautiful, right?”

“You picked a great spot.” 

“And an even better woman.” 

A hint of a smile on your face, you turned, pressing your hand onto his bare chest, pushing him into the direction of the bed behind you. When you pushed him onto the bed, he didn’t have the same shocked face that he had when you tore his shirt, rather, he was enthused. 

Everything was flowing, one move to the next, with the flow of a river, your black jeans falling to your ankles. Crawling atop him, you buried your lips back into his, his hands moving back up your legs, no longer limited by the denim fabric that it had encountered in the car. One hand on your inner thigh, one on the curve of your ass. You pressed yourself into him, the outline of your body fitting perfectly in the silhouette of his, once again feeling his erection through his jeans. 

“Time for those to come off,” you said in a low voice. 

“I guess it is, isn’t it?” 

You unbuttoned his jeans for him, throwing them off the bed. He responded with doing the same to your shirt, leaving your chest completely bare. You had never felt the need for a bra with tube top shirts, and now it was to Tom’s convenience. He smirked, sliding his hands up your hips, brushing a strand of hair over your shoulder and slowly making his way back onto your breast. 

He leaned up, burying his face in your chest, then to the inside of your breast, and finally over your nipple, sucking lightly at first. Your back arched, your hips pressing into his, a chill running down your spine. 

You found your arms locked around his neck, wanting to fill any space, any crevice that hadn’t been covered. You needed to be closer to him, you needed him as close as you could get him.

You needed to feel all of him. 

Taking his face in your hand, you placed a soft kiss on his lips, then shoved him back down, taking the lace off of your bottom half and tossing it aside with the rest of your clothes. Moving to your elbows, you shifted down towards his waist, taking the band of the Calvin Klein’s into your teeth and pulling them down his toned thighs. 

“Are you-”

“I can stop if-”

“Are you going to ride me?”

You smirked, “You have a problem with that?”

He was rubbing his lips together, his eyes still examining you as if he had only seen you for the first time, “I’ve never…” 

Tom didn’t get to finish his thought, as your tongue had taken to sliding up the side of his wand, his breath hitching, a hint of a moan falling out of his mouth. You took your time, kissing his waist, his stomach, his sternum, leaving a hickey on his collarbone, spending a while at his neck, and finally returning to his sweet lips, only pausing to embrace the feeling of him inserting himself inside of you, the closure you longed for. 

Starting slow, you lifted your body up with your knees, stretching your arms to feel the bareness of his chest, his toned abs like porcelain in your hands. Up and down, you bounced, each thrust a wave of pleasure in his body. When you looked down at him, his features had softened, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. All the tension from work had been long forgotten, tension you hadn’t even realized was there until it had vanished. 

You arched back over, quickening the motion of your hips, listening for the sound of his pounding, lustful heart. 

Penetrative sex had never been much help for your orgasm, and you determined that would be up to you when you get home. When Tom finished, an explosion of release and satisfaction, you fell on top of him, circling your arms around him, wanting to continue to feel his skin against yours. 

“Did you…”

“No,” you mumbled, “but that’s okay.” 

“What?” he sat up, bringing you with him, “No, it’s not.”

“Tom it’s really fine-”

But he had taken to kissing you again pushing your left shoulder down, so now it was you lying on your back, the feeling of his satin comforter soft against your back. Your wrists in his hands, he pinned them above your head, reinserting himself briefly, hitting the correct spot. Only, this would provide a short spot of sexual pleasure for you. 

“It won’t be enough, seriously Tom, I can-”

“Say no more, love.” 

He mimicked what you had done, leaving a hickey on your collarbone, kissing down your chest, kissing your hipbone, and finally, finding the magic button. 

There was no stopping the audible and lengthy moan, as the feeling of his mouth on your clit sent you into a euphoria. For the first time, this was not just about your partner getting off, but you as well. Your feet on his back, he pressed on, sucking, moving his tongue in various directions, increasing the pace the louder your moans got. 

Your legs were turning into jello, you felt yourself tensing, holding your breath, waiting for that feeling. A feeling no man ever had the time to give you, the tip of the roller coaster, the rush of wonderful that you wanted from Tom so badly. 

It ricocheted through your body as it relaxed, the fireworks going off inside you. As you settled, you felt him suck on the inside of your legs before moving his body back to your level, pulling the sheets down, then taking you back into his arms, intertwining his bare legs with your own. 

…

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you woke, Tom’s steady breaths were brushing the back of your neck. Turning around, you buried your face in his chest, getting a strong whiff of the safe scent you had taken note of earlier. He was warm, slightly sweaty, but incredibly comfortable. 

The shifting brought his eyes to flutter open, and he placed a kiss on top of your head when noticing that you had moved. 

“Can I be honest with you Y/N?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I think that I want to keep seeing you.” 

Those words in that particular order almost made your heart stop. You frowned and reopened your eyes, looking up at him, his own swollen with sleep.

“What?”

“I said I think-”

“No, I heard you, but...are you serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack.” 

Your heart had gone from a complete stop to a sprint all at once, and you truly had no idea what to think. You had believed him when he said that he made it clear to his former hookups that it was a one-time ordeal, but hearing this, you were second-guessing his words. 

“Is that what you said to all of them?”

“All of who?”

“The entire female body of our agency?”

You felt his muscles tense against your body, “No. Why would I say that to anyone else?”

“Why were they always so upset when you never wanted to see them again?”

He let out a heaving sigh, “I haven’t felt this way in a long time, Y/N, can you please just believe me?”

It was difficult. You wanted to believe him. God, with everything you had you wanted to believe him, but there was the lasting image of the scoffs and the glares and the whispering that you couldn’t get out of your head. You weren’t sure if this was his tactic, if this was the way that he continued his long-lasting power trip. 

Even with the newfound tension in the air, you still felt safe and happy being wrapped up in his arms, with no desire to leave. You wanted this to happen again. If you had it your way, this wouldn’t be the last night you spent drifting off in his arms.

“I’d like to see you again, too.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, but I’m not playing any games, Tom.”

“Trust me, Y/N, the only game we play is when we’re surrounded by criminals.”


	5. bullet straight through my brain

Everything was different when you returned to the evil lair. A certain special night would change your outlook on this mission for its remainder, but that wasn’t the only dissonance that rattled the metal walls. There was a certain way that the gang was looking at you that had you on edge. You ignored it for the time being, but each glare buried itself in your skin like a bullet. 

While watching that afternoon’s football game, you sat sideways in your chair with your feet sitting in Tom’s lap, his arms loosely lounging atop your shins. Every so often he would run his rough hands over the smooth skin of your legs, and at one point he even removed your shoes to massage your feet. It was comforting, especially in the midst of men who seemed as if they wanted to harm you at any given second. 

Boss was in his office, and he hadn’t shown any sign of coming out to join the others. When the cold stares got to much, you decided to busy yourself and hopefully get the tiniest amount of intel. For the past three weeks, you had been flirting with each of the men without any qualms, but as you approached the door to knock, you felt yourself turn back to Tom, wishing that you could apologize before being let in. His beautiful, deep brown eyes looked sad but knowing. He couldn’t blame you, the agency had told you to do whatever it took.

He was frowning when you entered into his space. You hadn’t seen the room before. There were no security cameras to hack into, and you hadn’t coughed up the bravery to try and enter before today. It was funny how fear of the other men had brought you face to face with the man that worried you the most. 

“Can I help you, Miss Rose?”

You smiled, devilishly, tossing your faux hair behind you and sitting down on a chair across from his desk. He was typing furiously on his desktop computer, and you would give anything to lean over and take a look at what it was. 

That would come later. For now, you needed to wear him out.

“I think you can, Mr. Bossman,” you still hated the way that the New Jersey accent sounded. You brought your voice to a higher pitch when you spoke with it, and if you were somebody else, you would have been annoyed with it.

He stopped typing, “How so, dear?” his chin was spotted with scruff, and he removed the sunglasses that shaded his eyes, revealing a set of baby blues that you had only just realized that this was your first time seeing. 

Standing, you circled around the right side of the desk, sitting on it in front of him, “It was just...getting a little boring. Sports have never really been my thing.” 

You leaned over, resting your elbow on your leg and your chin in your hand. Your low-cut shirt was revealing everything that you did and didn’t want the man to see. You were disgusted with yourself, but this had been the plan from the start. Men like Boss revealed the most when they were being seduced. Tom’s sad eyes were at the forefront of your mind, but you couldn’t stop now. This had been the plan from the start. 

Boss smiled, pleased with the situation, and rolled his chair closer to his desk to where you were sitting, “I see.”

You had had plenty of meaningless kisses in your lifetime, especially when you were in high school. You had gone on numerous dates solely for the promise of a free meal. Boss’s lips on yours was the least meaningful interaction that you had ever encounter. His intention was full of sexual drive, while yours was just another part of the job. It was not Y/N who was cheating, it was Rose, and you needed to keep that distinction for your own sanity. 

His hands were on your body, and you were separating yourself from the situation, viewing yourself as an outside source looking in. This wasn’t you, it was someone else. Eyes squeezed shut, too much fear to open them. You had gone from an exhilarating sexual experience to one that you knew you would want to forget as soon as it was over. 

As he kissed your neck, as unwanted chills spilled down your spine, you took the opportunity to peak at the computer screen that thankfully hadn’t fallen asleep. You winced when you felt his teeth, knowing that his mark would be visible, but you squinted as he continued, attempting to see a name, a location, anything. 

He was on your collarbone now, and you were memorizing an address that was labeled “Secondary Pickup Location.” 

“What are you…” Boss had stopped, noticing your inactivity, but when your attention snapped back to him, it was too late. You had been caught focusing on the wrong thing. His eyes turned dark, the blue in them suddenly no longer charming, but terrifying. You were panicking now, ashamed of your stupidity. You could have waited. You could have done the deed and let him sleep. This was it. Mission blown. Cover destroyed.

Only your cover, though. Tom was still out there, unaware, and you weren’t going to let that change. He was smart, if Boss killed you in his office, he wouldn’t give himself up. He would wait until the day was done, and then report you killed in action. He may care about you, but you would do the same if you were him.

And you trusted him. You had to trust him. 

It was almost mystical, the way everything had changed. You had never seen yourself trusting Tom Holland. It took being put in this life-or-death scenario to come to the conclusion that trust was essential to this mission. If none of this had happened, you might have already gotten yourselves killed a lot sooner.

Your mind wandered because it hadn’t accepted your fate.

“A nark. You’re a fucking nark,” he lunged for you, but you rolled out of his grip and took a swing to his jaw, making contact, feeling both the skin on his face and the skin on your knuckle break. You had a ring on, but that only did so much. 

“Oh yeah. Definitely a fucking undercover cop. I should have known,” this time he was faster than you expected a man of his size to be, and he caught a clump of your wig in his fist. He had gone to yank your actual hair, but instead, this ripped both the wig and the pins keeping it in place off of your head, your natural hair color falling out of place and across your eyes. 

“Bitch. You really thought you could fool us, huh?” he kicked his heel into your nose, the crack echoing in your head, blood spilling down the front of your mouth. Ouch. 

“I had you fooled, bastard,” you tried to shake the dizziness away to stand, but this time he kicked your chest, knocking the wind out of you, and throwing you back another foot. 

He gripped your real hair, pulling his face to you, “Is he in on it. Don’t you fucking lie to me, either, I’ll know if you’re lying.” 

No, he really wouldn’t.

“He’s not! He’s not. He was a customer, he talked about his application for this job at the restaurant while we flirted. It was where we got the plan.” 

“Who?”

“NYPD. I work for the SVU.” 

Lies lies lies. He was eating up your lies like candy, thank goodness.

“Well then. Let’s see if he agrees.” 

Picked up by your hair, again, the door was kicked open, a surprise flurry of heads jerking to the direction of the sound. 

“Johnny, mate, it seems your little plaything has a problem.”

Tom’s eyes remained neutral, he looked to you, then to Boss, “She wasn’t coming onto you was she, sir? I promise she can be a bit of a flirt, but-”

“She’s a nark, Johnny.”

He feigned surprise, “What?”

“SVU cop. Sound familiar?”

“SV...what?”

“Special Victims Unit, trying to take us down. I thought you might be her partner but…” he tossed you down, forcing you to your hands and knees. You felt the impact of his foot on your stomach, but you had started to try and see all of the pain from the outside like you had when his hands had been begging for you. This was someone else’s pain, Rose’s pain, not your own. 

“It looks like your the one who’s as dumb as a doornail. She had you hook, line, and sinker, Johnny Bruno. How’s that make you feel?”

You didn’t like where this was going.

“Pissed off, Boss.” 

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Show this bitch who’s the doornail,” Tom stood and walked over to you, lifting you to your feet by your shirt, clutching your chin, inches away from having you in a chokehold, “We’ll be right back, boss.” 

He threw you into Boss’s office for good measure, but when the door shut, you felt yourself running into his arms and melting into tears. You had been trained for situations like this, but now face to face with your worst nightmare, it was hard to recollect your training.

“Y/N, stop crying. Hey, Y/N, it’s okay,” there were strokes on your back, but they weren’t doing anything to stop the heaving sobs, the fear, your inevitable fate.

“Tom. I’m done. Stay in this. Take care of your next partner. Okay?”

“Y/N, we can get you out of this, I’m sure the agency has already sent backup-”

“This isn’t the police, Tom. They won’t compromise the mission to save my life. Don’t you remember everything we were briefed on?” 

He cursed. 

“Punch me, in the face. I can’t go back looking the same.” 

“I’m not going to-”

“Yes you are. Fucking punch me in the face, Tom.” 

Impact, white, a sea of stars, and when you went to open your eyes, only one would open. He had caused it to swell shut, and while it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling, it was precisely what needed to happen, but it would menial compared to what was next. 

“Tom look at me,” you had stopped crying now, your training was starting to reinstate itself, and you did everything possible to clear your head. You took his face in your hands, wiping a short tear off his cheek, “it has to be you.” 

“What?”

“You have to do it. It will keep your cover.”

“No!” he pulled you off him, looking insulted by your statement, “Y/N, we don’t kill our own.” 

“Tom!” you wanted to yell, but his safety was too much at risk, so you stuck to a harsh whisper, “Please. Don’t let them take the most valuable thing I have from me. I don’t want it to be them. Insist on it being you. Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can.”

With another hug and a kiss on the forehead, he cursed again, then shoved you back out for the rest of the boys to see, each of them looking pleased with his work. You took a few aching steps towards them, before buckling, letting your knees drop to the floor. There was no spot on you that didn’t hurt, but fortunately, that wouldn’t last too long.

“Execution style, nice choice, Narky,” Hardy approached you, then spat in your face, you wiped your eyes, disgusted, and spat right back at him, which only gained you a kick in the head.

Boss had his gun to your head as soon as you sat back up on your knees, “Ready for lights out?” 

Silence. You waited. He had to. Goddamnit, he had to.

“Boss, let me.” 

Finally.

“Bruno? Not going to lie, not what I expected. You ever kill someone before?”

He didn’t say anything as he pulled the gun from Boss’s hand, giving him a dark look, then refocusing it on you.

“I love you, Johnny.” 

“Don’t say another word to me.” 

“My lies were only for your own good.”

“I’m not a fan of games, Nark.” 

He was speaking to you, in code. Your final conversation.

“I know you aren’t,” you spoke softly.

The gun was pressed into your temple now, Tom standing tall above you. Time was slowing, and all you saw was everything flashing ahead of you. The glass breaking in your childhood home. Then, going to the hospital for a detox you hadn’t known you needed, a result of the meth lingering in that same childhood home. There you were, arresting the Magic Man, signing your contract with the agency, being assigned to work with Tom Holland, something you had dreaded at the time. You saw your reflection in the mirror after trying on that red wig, Tom’s complaints about letting his hair fall naturally, the daily drives to the warehouse.

Your one and only night together, the fact that he wanted to see you again. 

Did he want to, or were you just another woman for his repertoire? You would never know the answer no matter how much you craved it. The question that had been plaguing you since you started this mission. You had countlessly proved yourself to lay your life on the line for him. At this point, you would practically do anything for him. Now, you were even willing to die for him. 

Was Tom Holland a good man?

_Yes I would die for you baby, but would you do the same?_


End file.
